


It's A Crime

by flowerboysandramyun



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Drug-Induced Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerboysandramyun/pseuds/flowerboysandramyun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baekhyun doesn’t want to lose his friendship, but he also likes the feeling of Jongin’s lips against his. Among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistakes Are Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally challenged to write a magically life-changing kiss scene, and yet, 11,000 words later, here I am with angsty, complex Kaibaek smut (and my best attempt at an intense kiss somewhere in here). This one's for you, Astrid. I blame you for everything, always.

The first time it happens, it’s an honest mistake.

 

Baekhyun manages to fuck his shoulder up around February, smack in the middle of rehearsal, his ligaments stretching and muscles burning. It’s an embarrassing spectacle, the way some of the members crowd around him in concern, others stepping back and avoiding the sudden chaos. It’s nothing new that one of them tears something, sprains something, breaks something, so even on his way to the hospital, Baekhyun just sighs with the word ‘routine’ dying on dry lips and dehydration adding an unfortunate element of spontaneous vertigo to the mix.

 

When he’s back at the dorms, there’s a small shrine, an obnoxious centerpiece of painkillers stationed on his nightstand and he complains loudly to anyone within earshot that he can’t take that many pills because it means he’ll have to drink a ton of water, and that means he’ll have to piss every five minutes, which is far from ideal for a convalescent who can’t get up without another bout of dizziness throwing him off his axis. Suho does his best to keep Baekhyun from crawling out of bed for the next two days, despite his protests and eager claims that he’s fine for rehearsal, and Chanyeol gets an earful when he tries to tuck Baekhyun in the first night like he’s a baby. “I’m not a fucking vegetable,” Baekhyun mumbles under his breath when Jongin walks in to get something after the fiasco, receives a sheer look of pity, and sighs when they all leave to give the princess her royal beauty sleep.

 

It was decided that Baekhyun would get his own room when they found out that the meds were so thorough in knocking him out that he snored louder than Chanyeol on a bad day. As if the days weren’t lonely enough, moping around the empty dorm and making far too many cups of unnecessary tea, he was now sleeping without a single person in the room to bother, a routine that's hard to break for such a chatty young man.

 

On the fourth day, Baekhyun is tired of the lack of social interaction, and nearly shouts with relief when Chanyeol makes his way into the pitch black room well after midnight, likely there to check on his ability to take his medication and if he needs another cushion beneath his shoulder. “Just sleep here tonight,” Baekhyun mutters, voice heavy with exhaustion and desperation, arm tugging on the other just hard enough so the bed dips with another body, sitting in silence for a moment.

 

Some of the painkillers have him feeling lethargic, a little off, way too drowsy, and even though Chanyeol hasn’t said a word, it’s nice to have a warm body next to him, slowly edging his way onto Baekhyun’s other side with every pull and desperate whine. Baekhyun can’t see a damn thing, but there’s a sinister little smirk playing on his lips as he rolls over just enough to fold himself over Chanyeol, one arm vicariously draped across his stomach and one leg placed between Chanyeol’s. He’s ready to pass out, but not before he trails his fingers down Chanyeol’s thin t-shirt, slips a hand under—just beneath the hem—and grins with the gasp it draws out, traces a pattern just a little lower to the hem of his pajamas pants before disappearing underneath the fabric.

 

He wants Chanyeol to know he was right in staying here, wraps a confident hand around his hardening dick, and presses his body closer (careful not to lie on his injured shoulder) as his fingers work their way from base to tip. He flicks a teasing nail just across the slit, gloats at the sharp intake of breath that it brings, and drags another finger under the head, a—what Baekhyun assumes to be—visible tent forming and cock fully hard. He bites his tongue in concentration as he applies pressure in all the right spots, one hand gripping the sheet with knuckles white and one half of his body pushed against Chanyeol’s warm side, feeling it squirm perfectly beneath his touch. When he’s sure he’s close, head thrown back against the pillow, Baekhyun slides his hand up in a few more quick, suffocating motions that have his back arching, and Baekhyun wonders distantly why Chanyeol isn’t as vocal as he usually is. The thought is swept away by sudden exhaustion, the fierce desire to sleep, but it takes a few more pulls before the other is spilling into his palm, breaths coming in short gasps, body shivering and chest heaving.

 

Then there’s a breathy _hyung_ , and Baekhyun's falling onto his back. His eyelids are drooping dangerously, but not before he comes to a sudden realisation of who the voice belongs to. Chanyeol doesn’t call him hyung, Chanyeol’s voice doesn’t have that high and scratchy quality to it, Chanyeol makes a scene during sex. It’s his last fleeting thought before his eyes shut tight, sleep overtaking him, one leg still settled between the other’s.

 

He’d just jerked Jongin off.

 

When he wakes up, he’s well and truly fucked.

 

 

When he does wake up in the later hours of the morning, there’s no one next to him, and Baekhyun slumps against the headboard with a sobering clarity, staring at the door with painfully hard eyes and a painfully hard dick, feeling like he’s in a fever dream, rolling over and muffling his groans in his pillow. He doesn’t really remember the last thirty minutes before falling asleep, but a quick reminder of dirtied sheets and the fact that Chanyeol was staying with his sister the previous night has his fist tightening as recalls his mistake.

 

They don’t discuss it, don’t even look at each other really for the next few weeks, Jongin turning red the moment Baekhyun is finally allowed back in the studio, turning his focus back to his stretching as quickly as possible. They’ve always been pretty conversational, the two of the them, but it’s suddenly difficult to play it cool when Jongin practically attaches himself to Kyungsoo’s side (more so than usual) and refuses to look him in the eye. As if Kyungsoo’s lingering hand against Jongin’s from across the practice room isn’t already a painful enough reminder of how much he’s fucked up, he has to deal with Chanyeol’s overly enthusiastic hugs and teasing, telling him he’s missed him, nuzzling his face into his neck when they take a break and Baekhyun is trying to drown himself by drinking every water bottle he can get his hands on. If they still appropriated his nightstand, Baekhyun wishes he could down all the painkillers he had, watching as Jongin throws him a shaky look on his way out, fingers laced with Kyungsoo’s and eyes wide when they notice that Baekhyun has been staring.

 

A shoulder injury was apparently not enough.

 

 

It isn’t for a few weeks that Baekhyun actually bucks up and confronts him, tired of trying to avoid a person that he lives with twenty fours hours of every day, a person who can’t stand to be in the same room without bowing out in favour of using the bathroom or locking himself up in his room pretending to be busy with the scandals on Naver. He can’t even look him in the eye when Baekhyun is talking directly to him, for god’s sake.

 

“You guys are acting weird,” Sehun blurts halfway through dinner about two weeks after the incident, hand waving between the two who are stationed at opposite ends of the table. Baekhyun’s nerves have already been on edge for the past couple of days, nearly throwing a fit when Chanyeol tried to crawl into bed with him the night before, but no matter how many times he’s rehearsed the perfect words to iron out the obvious kinks in their current relationship, Jongin never seems to be around long enough for him to say them. Baekhyun kicks Sehun squarely in the shin from underneath the table. “Just pointing out the obvious,” he hears him mutter, but chooses to ignore it as he shoves the last piece of samgyupsal down his throat.

 

They get home sometime after midnight, stomachs full and limbs aching, Baekhyun’s shoulder acting up with a dull throb. Suho has to fight Sehun for the bathroom for about twenty minutes of doing who knows what, and it’s probably well past one when everyone is finally wrapped up in their beds, only to have to wake up early for rehearsal the next morning. Baekhyun simply thanks whatever God’s in heaven that their comeback isn’t for another month-ish, or so.

 

He’s in the kitchen, unknowingly pacing, downing his third cup of tea and sticks his tongue out at the jaw-tightening bitterness, makes a mental note to remind the members that they need to stock up on sugar. Everyone’s in bed, probably just falling into the first stages of sleep, and Baekhyun is shaking like a leaf with one hand gripping the counter until his knuckles are white.

 

After (accidentally) slamming his cup into the sink, he stalks off down the hall, hands buried in his pockets and slippers making soft padding noises as he walks. He stops in front of Kyungsoo and Suho’s room, releases an unsteady sigh, and walks a few more steps towards Sehun and Jongin’s room. He thinks momentarily about swinging the door open, asking for Jongin like it’s no big deal, walking out with him hooked on his arm and Sehun watching with wide, tired eyes, trying to process the sight. But as his fingers reach out tentatively for the handle, his shoulders slump (and a jolt of muted pain follows), and he reaches for his phone instead, typing out a quick text for Jongin to come out into the hallway. He hears the faint buzz, listens for movement, but it sounds like he’s either asleep or simply ignoring it. Baekhyun chooses the latter, chooses to be the drama queen and assume the worst.

 

He’s about to open the door anyway, almost willing to make a scene over this, but the thought is cut short when the door opens itself instead, Jongin’s drooping eyes peeking through the crack.

 

“What is it?” Baekhyun can’t tell if they’re actually making eye contact or if Jongin’s half-lidded eyes just look like they’re looking at him, but it’s a little bit comforting, even in the dark. Baekhyun makes a quick movement with his hand, motioning for Jongin to step outside, not even bothering with words in fear of waking up Sehun and receiving an earful.

 

When he steps out, shutting the door quietly behind him, “Just wanted to talk. It won’t take too long, promise,” Baekhyun says quietly, words coming out in a hurried mush. “Let’s go in the other room.”

 

Jongin is too tired to really register any of it, expression blank and untelling, so Baekhyun ignores his rising anxiety, tells himself to stop guessing what the other is thinking, and makes his way into their sad excuse of a sitting room. He hesitates before sinking onto one end of the couch, watching as Jongin drops haphazardly into the recliner only a few feet away. Baekhyun begins chewing his thumb, the air becoming tense with the oncoming silence. It’s Jongin that speaks first, to Baekhyun’s surprise, but he still won’t look at him, eyes finally adjusting to the faint light coming from the kitchen and staring at the floor.

 

“If this is about—” he starts, cutting off for a moment and jaw tightening as he sits up a little straighter, “if this is about what happened that night… Baekhyun, I—well, I uh—”

 

“No. No, it’s okay.” Baekhyun doesn’t know where the sudden courage comes from, but the words are suddenly tumbling out like a long-held confession. “I just wanted to apologize, really. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner, I just—well. I just didn’t know what to say. I thought you were Chanyeol that night, for fuck’s sake. God… I’m so sorry, Jongin. Really.” Baekhyun was expecting that signature feeling, that sudden lift of this heavy burden from his shoulders, but it doesn’t come. For some reason, he only feels worse.

 

And it’s clear that Jongin isn’t quite expecting that, with the way his eyebrows knit in confusion, arms visibly tensing as he grips the arms of the chair. A few more moments of silence go by, Baekhyun pressing himself into the couch and wanting to disappear, waiting for a response and heart beating erratically. Jongin raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

 

“You thought I was… Chanyeol?” Jongin almost laughs out loud, Baekhyun can see it on his face, a fleeting smirk passing across his expression before being replaced by the same, hard eyes. “But I was wrong to come in there. I shouldn’t’ve stayed, hyung, I’m sorry, too.” The last few words come out in a whisper, Jongin still staring intently at the ground.

 

Jongin is a rule follower, if anything, so Baekhyun isn’t surprised that he seems to be taking part of the blame. That’s Jongin for you. Baekhyun just didn’t expect to feel this horrible about it. “Those meds weren’t very good at keeping me awake...or aware,” Baekhyun says quietly, eyes flicking up to catch Jongin’s. He looks deflated, exhausted and painfully guilty, like he’s murdered someone and it all feels a little too cruel.

 

Jongin sits up a little straighter, finally meeting Baekhyun’s gaze directly for the first time in what feels like forever. He clears his throat, shifts with discomfort. “Kyungsoo and I—hyung, that night, we had…a fight. Or something like that.” Baekhyun almosts insert a quick comment about their sex life (or lack thereof), as is his natural, quirky reaction to a situation like this, but Jongin’s stony, hurt expression keeps him from doing so. He looks truly beat. “I came in looking for… I don’t know, really. But I wanted to get away from him, and then when you started—well, I didn’t say no because I. I wanted it. In that moment, at least.”

 

Baekhyun is already tense, but he can feel his own muscles stretching taut as the confession slips out, and he doesn’t think he can possibly feel worse than this. Well, apart from that time in the shower the other day when he was actually _thinking about it_ … He’d proceeded to slam his fist against the shower wall, earning a shout from Kyungsoo if everything was alright in there, Baekhyun answering back positively as he bit his lip and turned the stream off with unnecessary force. But as it proves now, everything’s not alright. There are problems on both ends here.

 

“Everyone has fights, Jongin. I mean, we live together, of course we’re not gonna get along every day,” Baekhyun starts, leaning back and running a nervous hand through his hair, “I just hope you sorted everything out with Kyungsoo. How did he… How’d he react? When you told him what happened?” It’s Jongin’s turn to look unbearably uncomfortable, burying his face in his hands and that’s right when Baekhyun knows it’s not so simple.

 

Then, through his fingers, muffled and hard to catch, “He doesn’t know.”

 

“What?”

 

“He doesn’t know, Baekhyun. I didn’t tell him.” Baekhyun’s eyes wander to the ceiling, wondering what he did wrong in a past life to deserve this, but immediately stops questioning it when he recalls all the things he’s done in his current life that would justify this. He’s not a saint. And now, neither is Jongin. Fitting.

 

“You have to tell him, Jongin. I don’t really know what your guys’ relationship is, but I’m pretty sure he’d need— _want_ to know. I’d hate to be the one that makes some sort of awkward rift between you two,” he says, twisting his hand in the hem of his shirt. No wonder they’ve seemed just fine in the past few weeks, Jongin always stuck to Kyungsoo’s side, not a single thing wrong apart from the weird looks Jongin would give Baekhyun. But it makes sense now. Jongin just glares at him from across the room, looking somewhere between scared to death and ready to fight. It doesn’t really suit him, but Baekhyun thinks it’s justified.

 

“I can’t, hyung. I can’t do that to him,” he mumbles in reply, collapsing in on himself in defeat, bringing his hands up to his face again, and Baekhyun hurts just at the sight. They don’t say anything after that. They don’t yell, they don’t discuss what the fight was about (although Baekhyun admits to himself that he’s a little more than curious), they don’t even look at each other when Baekhyun lifts himself from the couch and slips past, fingers brushing against Jongin’s arm with a wordless attempt at consolation. Baekhyun knows he should offer his help, knows that he should try harder to fix what’s been broken, but as he quietly opens the door to his and Chanyeol’s shared room and crawls into bed, he knows he’s too selfish.

 

He’d apologized. That was enough, right? The real fault is with the unreliable nature of opioids, taking away his consciousness and allowing his hands to wander where they weren’t permitted to wander. Baekhyun tries to convince himself of this, lets the excuse run through his head until he feels like he’s ran several miles, drained and warm, eyes fluttering closed with remaining uncertainties.

 

But even if he admits it to himself that the blame is all his, even if he takes the wrap and forgets his pride, it doesn’t change the simple fact that as he falls asleep that night, it’s the third night that he dreams of Jongin.

 

 

The second time it happens, Baekhyun figures out that he was the first.

 

It’s a series of unfortunate events that leads up to it, and Baekhyun feels like a teenager again with the way his hormones are thrumming through his system and going into overdrive, but it’s a quick, hurried set of motions that has him down on his knees after practice, Jongin’s sweats pooled around his ankles, fingers fisted in his hair and crying out his name—this time without any regard for being quiet or censoring himself.

 

The day after their little talk, things seem to turn around completely. Instead of avoiding his gaze, it seems that Jongin can’t take his eyes off of him, even when someone else is talking to him, and it takes Baekhyun the entire day to realise the implications. The plan should’ve been to tell Kyungsoo, to help clear things up and get his best friends out of whatever funk they might’ve been in, but Baekhyun can’t help getting wrapped up in the way Jongin’s tongue swipes across his lip, the gleam of perspiration across the expanse of his neck after a day of hard work, the subtle looks from across the room. He’s at war with himself, and while part of him wants so badly to punch himself for being the bastard that he is, Baekhyun ends up siding with his darker side, slowly giving in to the fantasies that pop into his head throughout the day.

 

They finish practice late again, nothing new, and Baekhyun forgets his jacket in the room, stumbling back to retrieve it so he doesn’t freeze to death on his way back to the dorms. And again, nothing new, Jongin is practicing late, even though he looks ready to drop dead from overexertion. Baekhyun thinks distantly that he might be a better dancer—not as good as Jongin, of course—if he stuck around after hours, working himself to the point of passing out like Jongin does on more than one occasion, but he’s much too obsessed with sleep and socializing to put effort into that.

 

Baekhyun doesn’t quite remember how it happens from there, something about _hyung, how’s my footwork_ , and then he’s right there alongside Jongin, getting some sort of private tutoring session, sliding across the floor and getting that extra practice he would’ve traded for sleep any day of the week. It’s cliché how he trips over Jongin and how Jongin falls, the two of them landing in an embarrassing heap on the hardwood floor that smells of sweat and rubber soles, legs twisted together and Jongin narrowly missing Baekhyun’s ribcage, almost crushing him into the ground. Baekhyun whines about his shoulder, releasing a steady stream of curses under his breath, pushes Jongin off of him, watches as he scrambles to the mirror, sitting against it and laughing for the first time in a long time. It’s then that Baekhyun decides he can’t hold on any longer.

 

“The last thing I need is to tear this again,” Baekhyun spits, glaring at Jongin without any real bite in his tone or sharpness in his eyes, rubs into the spot where it’s throbbing with his thumb and index finger. Jongin’s laugh dies out into a short breathy pant, grin still stretched across full lips, drops of sweat running down the sides of his face and falling down his neck. And then Baekhyun doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, not until the grin flashes away and is replaced by wide, bright eyes and heavyset anticipation, but he’s making his way across the room on his hands and knees, crawling right up to him and watching Jongin cower slightly against the glass.

 

If Jongin is still breathing, he can’t hear him, and it seems as if the air has stopped short in his throat as Baekhyun slides a careful hand up his pant leg. The younger doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off of Baekhyun’s save for a quick flitting downward to watch intently as the hand draws an uneven line of friction from his knee to his hip. There’s not a thought that’s in his head as Baekhyun’s fingers curl around the waistband, not a single thought that isn’t Jongin—Jongin is all he sees, all he hears, everything around him. There’s no room for doubt and with the way the dancer’s wetting his lips, letting out a sharp breath when the cold skin of his fingers make contact with his hip, it’s clear that the other’s head is filled only with thoughts of him.

 

The next few steps rush past in a dizzying blur, Baekhyun urging Jongin to his feet, pulling the pants to the floor and careful not to put too much pressure on his shoulder in the process. Baekhyun stays on his knees, surges forward and presses a hot, wet kiss to the inside of the younger’s thigh, mesmerized by the small tremor that goes through him as he braces himself against the mirror, waits for the initial shock to subside. His fingers slip just beneath the curve of Jongin’s ass, running steadily down as he feels the goosebumps forming, feels the jump in his own stomach when his lips come in contact with the other thigh, heart pounding as he leans back before closing in. When he takes Jongin in his mouth, hands immediately weave into his scalp, a quick raspy exhalation following, and his name falling off the tip of Jongin’s tongue like vanilla.

 

“There—” Jongin manages between shallow, oxygen-scarce breaths, and _dothatagain_ , or something similar, and Baekhyun obliges. His fingernails leave perfect crescents on the back of Jongin’s thighs as his tongue laves the underside of Jongin’s cock, smooth and practiced, dragging these sounds out of the other that he never would’ve thought he could make. When he comes, fingers roughly grasping at Baekhyun’s hair, the back of his head hits the mirror and one last repetition of his name breaks through the silence with a few more laboured rises and falls of his chest, trying to catch his breath. Baekhyun stumbles back, falls onto his back on the floor and sucks in much needed air as well, ignoring the tent in his own jeans. It sounds like they’ve both run several dozen laps with the way they’re breathing.

 

When they both get a grasp on their respiration, Baekhyun’s hands clasped casually across his stomach from his spot on the floor and Jongin with his pants yanked back on and sliding back down to sit against the mirror, it takes a few moments before either speaks. The silence is contemplative, euphoric, hard to break when their brains are still buzzing and blood still finding it’s way to the right places.

 

“Never done that before.” He looks like he regrets it the moment it comes out, Baekhyun scanning the other’s expression as he mutters it. He just barely holds back a grin, a sly smile because he prides himself in knowing what he’s done for Jongin—what he _can_ do—and so he just stares back, considering the information.

 

“But… He’s never—you two haven’t…?” he starts to ask, slightly confused, and he doesn’t have to mention his name for Jongin to know exactly what he’s talking about. Jongin just shakes his head, eyes settling on the ceiling.

 

“My first kiss was with Kyungsoo, but…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, doesn’t have to, and Baekhyun begins biting at his thumb, worried that he might’ve ruined everything, that Jongin will just break down on him. But the smile that spreads across Jongin’s face is more than unexpected, and when he meets Baekhyun’s questioning gaze, Baekhyun can’t help but grin back. He can’t explain this, what’s happening right now, what the feeling blooming in his chest is, but seeing Jongin smile is all the reinforcement he needs.

 

He feels like he could stand up, drag himself back over to where Jongin is sitting and slant his mouth against his like he owns him, but the thought is squashed by the sudden flood of warning signals that suddenly rush through his head, reminding him of every reason for why this is entirely a mistake. So wrong. Completely his fault. His heart sinks as the heavy realisation settles in.

 

One of Jongin's hands has somehow made its way to tracing mindless patterns on his outstretched ankle, but Baekhyun throws him off unexpectedly as he practically jumps to his feet in a bold move of worry and guilt, grabbing his jacket as he goes. He doesn't say anything else, because he can't, there's nothing he can say to fix this now, so he just sends a confused Jongin the most apologetic look he can muster before shutting the door on his falling face.

 

Baekhyun marches down the hall, not wanting the younger to catch up (although it doesn't look like he's even after him), and tries his best to ignore the ache in his shoulder and the constricting pulse of blood through his head that's giving him the most excruciating headache.

 

He was a virgin once. He'd slept with a couple of virgins, too. But none of it seems to be comparable with his hand and mouth alone bringing his best friend (albeit, co-worker, from a company standpoint) to completion under the dim lights of the company dorms and practice room. It doesn't seem like it's his responsibility, like it's his place to take that away from Jongin, so it feels so wretchedly wrong instead. He'd managed to wedge himself between two people that he thought were utterly simpatico, allowed himself to make the same mistake a second time because there was this look in Jongin's eyes that was pushing him to do it, and now he would have to deal with the consequences despite the pleasant swell of his stomach every time he thinks of Jongin's hands in his hair.

 

He had been Jongin's first.

 

That isn't how things are supposed to happen. And though he may be lacking in certain moral departments, Chanyeol personally attesting to it on a somewhat regular basis, he just knows—he can't let it happen again.

 

 

The third and fourth times are sloppy and pathetic and rushed.

 

Baekhyun had made such strict vows with himself, promising to keep a safe distance from the younger after that encounter in the practice room, but Jongin often makes things difficult by latching to his side instead of Kyungsoo's every other moment of the day. He'll be studying Chinese, textbook and papers splayed out across his desk and struggling to form the words properly without one of their usual Chinese tutors from M, when Jongin manages to slip into the nearly empty room without a sound, arms wrapping around Baekhyun from behind his chair and resting his head on his good shoulder while he studies.

 

"Don't you need to be looking over this stuff too?" Baekhyun asks distantly, but Jongin just shrugs, or replies with a soft:

 

"Tao or Luhan always translate for me. Besides, I'm in charge of dance, hyung, not languages." Then Baekhyun sighs, relishing in the feeling of Jongin's warm arms around him, letting Jongin's hand fall beneath his waistline and return the favour for the first time, Baekhyun coming in record time under Jongin's inexperienced hand. The second time he allows Jongin to distract him like that, he’s at the kitchen table, almost asleep with his face pressed to the page on conditionals. If they’re keeping score, they’re even after that.

 

After those encounters, it’s no longer about trying to stay away. For Baekhyun, it becomes a matter of no longer thinking about it. He doesn’t spare a moment to rationalize, just does it, tries to shut out the sharp pang in his stomach when he sees Jongin grinning at him from across the room, attempts to shut off that part of his brain that wants to scream when he sees Jongin glowing—fucking _glowing_. He really can’t even remember a time when his universe didn’t revolve around the quiet, sometimes cheeky, always caring dancer, and while it should bother him a lot more, it doesn’t. Not one single bit.

 

For once in his life, he doesn’t feel like he’s falling apart. At least when he’s not thinking about it too much.

 

 

Things turn upside down sometime in late March.

 

Baekhyun wants to call it a coincidence, a cruel joke played on him by the forces of nature, but something in the pit of his stomach also seems to hint that it’s meant to happen this way, at this very time. He’s never believed in fate, never had an ounce of belief in bad luck (or good luck, for that matter), but when he’s biting his thumb and shaking like a nervous old woman in front of the door to their dorm, he wonders if he’s been wrong about that his entire life.

 

The entire group is off in different parts of the city, filming or recording different things, a sort of personal day as far as schedules go. The start of the day had been horrendous, with everyone rolling out bed on the wrong side, Chanyeol spilling his coffee all over Baekhyun in his attempt to rush to the sink, Sehun making a scene about a missing sock, Kyungsoo trying not to murder both of them in the process, Jongin staying locked away from the chaos, and Suho desperately trying to keep the peace (and failing). Baekhyun thinks that if he doesn’t go somewhere, doesn’t beat out his frustrations in the practice room or sing an angry ballad about how vexing it is to live with five—and occasionally eleven—other boys every moment of every single day, he’s going to punch a hole in the wall. Or someone’s face. Whatever’s most available, really.

 

So that’s exactly what he does—well, not the punching. After most everyone has filed out of the dorm and has been carted off to their respective places, he shuffles into the company building, upstairs to an empty practice room, and just starts singing. He sings until his throat hurts, sings until his mind is numb, sings until the weight on his shoulders feels just a little bit lighter. It’s been a stress reliever for him every since he was young, and it’s days like this that he’s glad it’s his profession and not just an after school hobby.

 

He spends about two hours just pacing. Pacing and singing, singing, pacing. It becomes a mindless action after the first hour, and he almost feels better by the second. He knows it’s normal for them to not get along, to have a startling desire to rip each other’s throats out by the end of some days and love each other the next, but it can be a tiring routine of anger, hatred, love, anger, hatred, love. He never complains aloud, mostly because he knows he signed up for it, but it doesn’t stop him from running his opinions into the ground with every stomp across the squeaky floor of the SM building. Jongin, of all people, had nearly gone ballistic the other week when Baekhyun had taken a shirt from his closet. The petty things were the worst. They knew those were dumb things to be upset over, but sometimes it became a dramatic upheaval just just for the sake of letting off steam.

 

At noon, Baekhyun finally decides he doesn’t need to stretch his vocal chords anymore, that the vending machine downstairs isn’t as good as solid food, and on his way back, he’s practically salivating as he reads several dozen texts from Chanyeol about what they should get for dinner after everyone’s schedule. He’s suddenly walking faster to the car that’s waiting for him, just thinking about the things he wants to eat, and nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone starts buzzing in the palm of his hand.

 

A quick look at the caller ID shows that it’s Jongin, and now that he’s no longer prepared to start a fist fight with any of the members, he concedes that it’s safe to answer the call as he climbs into the back seat of the car.

 

“Hey. Thought you were recording some radio show with Suho. Over already?” Baekhyun huffs, wrapping his arms around himself to fight off the sudden chill that traps itself in the car when he closes the door and the car begins moving. And it takes him a moment, a few awkward seconds of silence and more Hello?’s before he wonders if Jongin’s butt-dialed him.

 

Then, suddenly, “Help, oh god, stop— _fuck_ —” and the rest is completely muffled, like his phone’s been dropped into a pile of clothes (which isn’t unlikely, considering the state of their dorm). And just like he’s been training himself to do, Baekhyun doesn’t think. Just panics, just listens as the alarm bells go off in his head. As an idol, a famous, walk-down-the-street-and-get-mauled idol, there’re a number of things that can go wrong on the way home from a schedule with fans or someone else, and it’s Baekhyun’s first instinct to fear the worst. He thinks it unlikely that something bad could happen during the day when it’s light outside and so many people around to see it, but then he panics even more, thinking that if something bad were to happen, it would be easier when surrounded by a crowd as dense as the ones that usually follow them around. But if Jongin is at the dorm, then he’s alone with no one there to see anything at all. And that scares him the most.

 

Baekhyun practically shouts at the driver, tells him to hurry the fuck up because something is wrong, and watches as they speed past signs and lines on the road that say it’s far from okay to be driving the way that they are. When they arrive at the dorm, Baekhyun bolts out of the car so fast, feels his feet barely hit the ground as he races to the front entrance and up the nerve-racking ride in the elevator, and only slows down when he comes to his senses at the door of their dorm. If someone is in there, who’s to say they’re not armed? Who’s to say that Baekhyun isn’t overreacting and this is all just an honest mistake? Either way, he doesn’t want to take his chances.

 

He pushes open the door as quietly as he can, feels like an idiot as he practically tiptoes across the hall like some stealthy, secret agent, and makes his way to Jongin’s room. There’s no sound coming from his room, but suddenly there’s dull thudding and muffled shouts peeking out from under Kyungsoo’s door and Baekhyun almost feels faint when he comes up to it. If there is a crazed murderer in there, they certainly sound a lot like Kyungsoo, the closer to the door he gets.

 

He presses an ear to the door, listens as the thudding continues, and then, “Kyungsoo, _please_ , just—”

 

Baekhyun’s face falls.

 

Everything he hears after that seems like a distant dream. Moaning, shouts cut short, the (sickening) sound of skin against skin. He feels sick to his stomach, and he’s not sure why. He thinks about how, in the past, he might’ve burst into the room and watched the looks on their faces as he made some terrible joke in poor taste about their technique, but instead, finds himself slumped against the door, out of breath, eyes wide, and lost for words. The sounds continue, like white noise, and Baekhyun doesn’t fully convince himself to tear himself away until there’s a final, few shouts, followed by complete silence. He shudders, just thinking—mulling over the implications, but finally manages to pull himself away. Away from the daze, away from his pathetic behaviour, thinking that someone actually might be attacking Jongin when… When…

 

When he stops short at the end of the hallway, he actually laughs. It’s void of humour, short and more like a cough, but he actually laughs at his own stupidity before pushing his way through the front door and shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks down and out through the lobby. _Just Kyungsoo_ , he thinks, _just Kyungsoo, Jongin, in the dorm, fu_ —

 

He pulls his arms tighter around himself. It’s embarrassing as he recalls the entire span of those ten minutes from the car ride to here, but he tries to shut it all out before he gets too involved, even in his own head. It was silly to think that Baekhyun would be first Jongin would phone for help if he actually were in trouble, and even sillier to think that he could’ve done anything about it. But what’s worse is that Baekhyun knows now what Jongin means to him. Now he knows that he’ll never be able to wipe those sounds out of his head, scratches angrily at his scalp as they play like a broken record in his brain, kicks at the ground when he catches himself imagining himself in Kyungsoo’s place.

 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

 

He kicks at the ground, but he wants to kick himself. He curses at the air, but he wishes it would curse at _him_. He reaches out to swing at the nearest thing—a tree—his shoulder rotating just the wrong way and—

 

 _Fuck_.


	2. Consequences Are Difficult

It starts with a torn shoulder, and ends with a kiss.

 

Chanyeol nearly loses it when he gets the call—an angry, spit-filled message to come and pick him up because he can’t move his arm—and only manages to hold his laughter in until they’re at the hospital, listening as Baekhyun tells the doctor that he’d pummeled a tree.

 

It feels like déjà vu when he’s curled up in bed, the same stack of painkillers keeping him company just off to his right, Suho bustling in and out every five minutes to ask if he needs something. It’s his second surgery on the damn thing, and frankly, he just wants some peace and quiet. No more slamming doors, no more asking if he wants another glass of water, no more well wishes in hopes of cheering him up. Just. Quiet.

 

Baekhyun isn’t one for overreactions, not if it means his reputation is on the line, or his physical well-being for that matter, but somehow he can’t convince himself that he completely regrets taking his frustrations out on that stupid tree. It had been _asking for it_. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself to get past the fact that there are a whole slew of other issues he’s leaving unaddressed. Between hitting the tree, being zoomed off to the hospital, and being deposited back into bed as an invalid for the second time, Baekhyun hasn’t even seen Jongin. Not even once. And he vaguely wonders if he went back to his parents house for the weekend. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, makes an appearance shortly after he arrives back at the dorm, making some snide remark about being an idiot, and even though Baekhyun feels fire running through his veins (from the medication or anger, he can’t quite decipher), he can’t bring himself to disagree. It probably makes his list of top ten most idiotic things he’s done, right up there with fucking the priest’s son behind the church building after service some four-odd years ago. That hadn’t ended well. Neither would this, it would seem.

 

When he finally gets fed up with the overflow of traffic coming in, and out, in, and out of his room, he loses it when Jongin steps in the next day, asking if he should bring in an extra pillow. He doesn’t know that it’s Jongin of course, but the minute he looks up after shouting some choice words and sees Jongin’s startled face, gripping a white towel in one hand and water in the other, he immediately feels like crumpling up into a ball and disintegrating. Of all the people he doesn’t want to deal with at the moment, it’s him. And poor, naive Jongin probably doesn’t even know the reason why. So, he attempts to disappear, wriggles farther down under the covers, and pretends to be asleep, even though he knows it’s useless.

 

“Hyung, I brought you some stuff…” he hears Jongin say tentatively, voice trailing off as his footsteps come closer. He hears the materials thunk on top of the nightstand. When Baekhyun doesn’t say anything in return, he listens for a few more seconds to wait for Jongin to go away, to leave him alone to pout under his own dark cloud of misery. But he doesn’t. He just stands there. “Baekhyun?”

 

It takes a few moments for him to come to terms with the fact that Jongin isn’t leaving until he gets some sort of reply, so he finally rolls over, peeking out from under the giant blanket, and gives him the most irritated look he can muster. “Is that all?” He feels a little bit bad when he sees Jongin’s expression scrunch up, looking guilty and worried and altogether handsome (as usual). Baekhyun bites his tongue to keep himself from voicing his thoughts—a terrible habit of his.

 

“Are you…” he starts, shifting from one foot to the other, back and forth, the motion driving Baekhyun nearly insane, “Are you okay?” Baekhyun scoffs, but quickly disguises it as a cough when he sees the lines crease more firmly on Jongin’s forehead. He’s serious. Typical, heartfelt Jongin.

 

“Well, I did just tear the muscles in my shoulder again, and it sorta feels like the right half of my body is slowly burning the rest of me alive, but yeah. I’m fine.” He says it will all the gusto he can manage in his position, a crippled, useless body who’s supposed to sing and dance for a living. Jongin almost cracks a smile at that, but favours his sheer look of concern over a grin. He reaches out to touch Baekhyun’s shoulder, fingertips barely brushing the fabric of his thin v-neck, gnawing on his lower lip as he draws back again.

 

“Sorry… I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, busying himself with a thread hanging off the hem of his shirt. “It’s just—I mean, I heard about what happened, with your arm, and the tree, and I don’t know. Chanyeol-hyung says you were really angry and I just… I thought—”

 

“Like I said, I tore my shoulder. After I punched a tree. Of course I was mad,” Baekhyun explains, short and impatient. He wishes Jongin would just leave already. “You don’t need to worry about it; I know which pills to take and when I’ve gotta take them. Here’s hoping that the second time’s a charm and not the third, right? What are you guys ordering for dinner?” Baekhyun sits up a bit to grab the bottle of water off the nightstand, taking a swig after making a toasting gesture, eyes hard and body aching. As he puts the bottle back, he twists the wrong way, groaning at the new pain that’s pricking its way down his side. Jongin jumps to help, but it's mostly just a show of outstretched arms and wide, worried eyes, as if it’ll actually do something to stop the pain. It’s kind of cute, actually. The way he looks like he’ll catch Baekhyun’s vomit if that’s what it takes to be a good bandmate. Baekhyun suppresses a smirk, hoisting himself back up against the headboard.

 

“Please take it easy, Baekhyun. You’re too hard on yourself. You need to rest.” Baekhyun knows that Jongin is being sincere, that he really wants him to take care of himself, but his brain is twisting every word that comes out of his mouth to be something biting, something vindictive. It fits better with the self-deprecating, pity party he’s made for himself.

 

“I’m not gonna shatter. Not made of fucking glass,” Baekhyun mutters under his breath. “ _You_ , on the other hand—”

 

“What about me?”

 

“You…”

 

“What?”

 

Baekhyun stares back for a moment, blinking slowly. Always speaking and acting before thinking, that’s him: Byun Baekhyun. “Never mind. And thanks. For the water, I mean.” He doesn’t say much else, just rolls back over, situates himself under the covers again so he’s facing away from Jongin’s puzzled expression and fidgety hands. Jongin waits for a few more seconds, says his name or something similar, and Baekhyun just replies with a simple _I’m tired_ and _please leave me alone_. He feels a little dumb just saying it, he’s really not the spiteful type, but he also doesn’t feel like dealing with his problems right now. Not when his head is fuzzy, his body hurts, and he can’t stop thinking about the first time Jongin came into his room when he was like this, unannounced. It takes another couple of seconds for Jongin to realise that Baekhyun isn’t going to say anything else, and that’s when he finally hears footsteps on their way out. Baekhyun breathes a sigh of relief.

 

The next few days happen much like the last time, except Baekhyun keeps himself quiet instead of whining for things and Chanyeol comes in multiple times, knuckles wrapping against his forehead and asking if the real Baekhyun is still in there. He usually just pulls the covers over his head and ignores it, waits for Chanyeol to stop harassing him about what Kris said when he called him to tell him what happened, and continues to get frustrated when he finds himself secretly wanting the door to open up to crescent eyes, tanned skin, full lips, and a perfect body. It’s getting pretty tiresome. Especially when he hasn’t seen Jongin since he told him off—a few days that feel more like months.

 

When the moment of Baekhyun’s discharge from ‘prison’ (as he called it) comes—three weeks and an ugly sling later—he’s allowed into the practice rooms to carefully run through footwork and vocal exercises, much to his dismay since he’d previously made a bet with Kyungsoo regarding his ability to perfectly run the choreo without punching any foliage or twisting his arm the wrong way. So far, his chances of winning aren’t looking too good. Neither are his chances of trying not to punch Kyungsoo—but he tells himself it’s a subconscious thing.

 

Although he’d seen him around the dorm, keeping to himself, making a mess in the hallway with his sweats he would shed after practice, rummaging around in the kitchen for even the slightest crumb of food (an unlikely prospect in a busy group’s dorm), Baekhyun’s first real interaction with Jongin is far from his original intentions, which included more avoidance tactics than actual face-to-face communication.

 

It’s another late night at the studio, everyone desperately trying to rub the inexorable exhaustion from their eyes, and Baekhyun is collapsed on the couch, humming faint arpeggios to himself like they mean something. He’s really not allowed to work through the choreography to the fullest, but he still finds himself cruelly out of breath every day, fatigue eating away at every mundane task he attempts. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed Jongin eyeing him all day, watching him closer than usual and turning away any time their eyes met. Jongin isn’t known for being subtle, at least not on purpose, and when Jongin catches him by the arm on their way out with the others scuttling ahead into the freezing cold and then into the warm van, Baekhyun is hardly surprised.

 

“Can I help you?” is Baekhyun’s automatic response. He wonders if the rest of the group thinks they're staying after to practice. Jongin just frowns.

 

“I know you’re avoiding me.”

 

Baekhyun sighs, rolls his eyes for dramatic effect, pushes his jacket farther up on his shoulders. “Maybe you’ve been the one avoiding me,” he says, forced boredom creeping into his tone. He yawns. Jongin really isn’t the best at picking the right times for serious conversation.

 

“You’re an idiot, you know. A really big, stupid idiot.”

 

Gawking, Baekhyun reels a bit. Those certainly weren’t the words he was expecting. In fact, in his idealistic fantasy version of this conversation, Jongin is asking him out for coffee—god, he could use a cup of chemical-infused energy. Funny how his mind wanders. “‘Idiot’ is pretty colourless. I prefer ‘bastard’. Or ‘diva’. Actually—scratch that. Chanyeol coined that last one.” He turns to leave, but Jongin catches his uninjured upper arm, flipping him around, easy. Like some sort of ragdoll. _An unfair advantage_ , Baekhyun thinks.

 

“You punched a tree and hurt yourself really badly. Bastard, diva, idiot, you name it. You’re _it_ , Byun Baekhyun. You’re as dumb as they come,” he retorts, eyes shiny and hard, bordering on insanity from sleep deprivation. Baekhyun shifts a bit, but Jongin’s grasp isn’t about to loosen up anytime soon.

 

“If this is a lesson in self-esteem, I’m not sure I understand the point you’re trying to make here—”

 

“Why won’t you just admit it?”

 

“Admit what? That according to you, I lack basic intelligence? What the hell, Jongin? Let go of me or I swear I’ll screw up my arm again trying to—”

 

“You were jealous! You walked in on something you shouldn’t have a few weeks ago and you got jealous! That’s what _this_ is all about, right?” Jongin half shouts, motioning with his other hand at Baekhyun’s rainbow tie-dyed sling. Baekhyun had expected the topic of conversation to be this, about his little run in with his bandmates while they were engaged in something he’d much rather forget, but Jongin’s childish approach is just short of the pre-pubescent squeak of a voice and a high school bathroom. After a short staring contest, Baekhyun breaks into strained laughter.

 

“God, we’re _those_ people now, are we? We fight about petty crap like this?” Baekhyun manages between awkward coughs of laughter. “I don’t have time to talk about your teenage, angst-ridden feelings, Jongin. What happens between you and Kyungsoo is not my business. If you two wanna fuck around in the dorm, loud enough for the entire building to hear, then it’s none of my concern, is it? Now then. I think I’ll be going now.” Baekhyun tries one last time to break free, but Jongin’s grip is inevitably much stronger. When he looks up this time, Jongin doesn’t look quite as uptight—instead, if Baekhyun reads into it, he almost looks like there are possible tears on their way out. Jongin’s hand slides down a bit, settling just above the crook of his elbow.

 

“That’s not what I meant…” he starts, eyes darting to the floor to avoid his gaze, “I just wanted… I wanted you to talk to me. I just need to know what’s going on, Baek. I don’t like this game. I don’t like not talking to you.” It comes out in a bit of a rush, but Baekhyun catches it all, breathes it in like smoke—addicting, but poisonous. And if he admits it to himself, he empathizes with every word of it.

 

“Well that certainly wasn’t the way to do it.”

 

“I know. Sorry, I just. I got frustrated. I’ve _been_ frustrated,” he mumbles, grip loosening and hand finally dropping to his side. Baekhyun sucks in a deep breath, as if he was being strangled rather than held by the arm. “I wanted to talk about what happened a long time ago, but you were always avoiding me.”

 

Baekhyun momentarily thinks back on that moment when he sent Jongin out of his room, when he almost made the mistake of spilling his guts about his reasons for his behaviour and Jongin’s desperate attempt to get it out of him. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to suffer the past few weeks in abnormal silence if he’d just let this conversation happen back then. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone in the practice room after midnight. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell his jokes to Kyungsoo or Suho, who seemed far from amused every time he cracked one. At least Chanyeol still found him to be hilarious on his good days. But something was off, and maybe he could’ve fixed that a while ago.

 

“I didn’t necessarily think that you’d want to see me,” he says, beneath his breath, joining Jongin in fixing his attention on the ground. “Mostly just didn’t wanna see you…” he breathes out, even quieter. He feels Jongin shift, notices the immediate effects of his little confession, and lets the silence sink in as they both try to process everything, try to form something comprehensible to say next.

 

Everything about this feels strange, foreign even, to Baekhyun. Caught up in an unexplained, never-talked-about relationship with Chanyeol, off and on through the years, he’s still never completely grasped the concept of going from friends to something… _more_. From juvenile pirouettes in their first rehearsal together (quickly corrected; Jongin was SM’s star trainee) to asking to borrow socks and shampoo and cologne to kiddish arguments over who left the water on, Baekhyun and Jongin have always been _that_. Nothing, something, never _this_. And part of Baekhyun wants to shake Jongin—shake himself, and shout on and on about how this isn’t happening, how they’ve managed this many years without ever coming to this, and how stupid it all is. But Tao doesn’t actually control time. There’s no such thing as time machines, there’s no getting out of seeing your co-worker who occupies your same living space, there’s no escape. And that’s probably what scares him the most. And probably what scares Jongin most too, from the way his eyes are scrunched up, breathing heavy, fingers still lingering on Baekhyun’s arm. And damn his arm.

 

“Or, maybe… That’s not the problem,” Baekhyun starts, “maybe it’s the exact opposite. Not that I didn't want to see you…but that I did. And I couldn't bring myself to…” He can’t believe he’s saying it. Feels a bit painful really, the words leaving his throat like it’s all thorns and glass. Jongin eyes him carefully beneath his lashes, giving him that look, and—when did it become that look? he wonders.

 

“I wanted to see you too, hyung. I wanted to see you even more. It sucked. You always left me with him, and I just wanted to talk to you.”

 

Baekhyun swallows the lump in his throat, leans into Jongin’s fingers more than he should, presses himself instinctively against the wall like it’ll protect him from his own conscience. “But you and Kyungsoo… You two…”

 

When Jongin leans their foreheads together, breathes his air, he feels his lungs stop, body functioning like it’s in shock. And maybe it is. For everything they’ve done, for all the past screwups in this very same building, this feels like the closest they’ve been, even discounting proximity. Feels like a fucking teenager the way his heart is banging against his rib cage, feels stupid just describing this moment in his head using the word ‘electricity’, feels like he wants to write a novel about how cliche his life’s become and how much he hates the fact that he’s a little bit in love with the very idea of it. And when Jongin opens his mouth, he just wants to suck the words right out, take his breath away, and simultaneously send him flying with a bloody nose. It’s the definition of complicated; it’s an antonym for easy.

 

God, he hates it.

 

But it’s all just semantics, right?

 

“It was you. It _is_ you,” Jongin whispers, and it’s so easy to get caught up in it all. Baekhyun distantly wonders if the others even care that they’ve gone missing, because he certainly doesn’t, and maybe that’s all that matters.

 

“What are you saying? ‘It’s me’… What do you…”

 

“That night, Baekhyun. It’s dumb, it really is.” Jongin leans back again, an appropriate amount of distance between them, but still close enough to smell the faint stench of sweat clinging to Jongin’s clothes, and he can breathe again. “Your name sort of…came up. That night. I kind of said it.”

 

Baekhyun tries to ignore the blaring answer, grits his teeth together like he can crush his thoughts in his mouth. “I don’t understand.” _But he does_.

 

“I said your name. Instead of his. Shouted it, actually. At the...wrong time…” And then the answer is out there, bright red and obvious, and Baekhyun watches as Jongin ducks his expression out of sight, curling in on himself in embarrassment. The hand on his arm disappears as they both fly up to cover his face, and Baekhyun just wants to laugh. Doesn’t, but wants to. He’s not even sure why he finds it so funny.

 

“You were…thinking about me? While you were—”

 

Jongin’s head snaps up, cuts the sentence short in Baekhyun’s throat, and it’s right then that he can’t hold back the hairline fracture of a grin that’s shifting into place. Jongin looks like he wants to kill him. Baekhyun almost wishes he would.

 

“Wow, I feel sort of special.” He knows it’s a dumb thing to say. But everything he says is dumb. This is no exception.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“No, really; it’s kind of comforting to think that I’m on the other end of someone’s fantasies—”

 

“Shut up, seriously Baekhyun. Can’t you be serious for just one second?”

 

Baekhyun rolls his shoulders, winces a bit at the pain, but ultimately grins even wider. “Why? I’m feeling honoured right now.” He can practically feel Jongin rolling his eyes, but he also feels the tension slowly dissipating. And that’s definitely more bearable.

 

“I hate you.”

 

“I think you’ve already proven that wrong.” Jongin probably wants to punch his brains out now. He would, too.

 

Baekhyun hardly notices his own fingers inching up the sleeve of Jongin’s hoodie until he’s gripping his elbow, pulling him a little closer to him. He’s not the touchy-feely type, doesn’t like to get involved in other people’s business. But it’s a serious question with all the sincerity he can manage that comes next. “But you. Are you okay?” Jongin nearly slumps into his touch.

 

“…Feel like shit, really.”

 

“Join the club?” he offers, and watches as the first real smile spreads across Jongin’s tightly wound features, muscles relaxing a bit. That’s the most comforting thing he’s encountered all month, if he admits it. Now he really just wants to squeeze the air out of him, wrap his arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can. It’s disgustingly transparent of him.

 

“And how’s Kyungsoo? He’s doing okay, then?” Out of obligation, out of real concern, he isn’t sure why he asks it. But it’s out there. Jongin is practically breaking into his personal space right now, eyes fixed on Baekhyun’s like there’s nothing else to look at. And he can’t explain it, but it feels… _good_.

 

“Well, you know Kyungsoo-hyung. He always seems fine, but he’s probably dying on the inside.”

 

“Oh, gee. That’s comforting.” Jongin just shrugs.

 

“It’s a start.”

 

“It’s scary as hell, that’s what it is.”

 

A few more beats of contemplative silence, just staring back at each other and trying to figure things out, and then, “Baekhyun?”

 

Jongin’s looking at him with these big, round eyes, equal parts nervousness and relief carved into the lines of his face, and Baekhyun has to fight the urge to smooth all the creases out with his thumb like it’s just a smudge of paint. He just digs his thumb into the fabric of his hoodie instead.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I know it’s probably not the right time to ask this, but I was thinking—just wondering, really…”

 

“Yeah?” The hallway’s suddenly a bit too stuffy, too tight, and Baekhyun gulps in a big breath of Jongin’s air, wondering how they got so close again. All he knows is that Jongin’s face is twisting up, he’s desperately trying to find something to do with his hands, and it’s making Baekhyun’s stomach jump.

 

“Well, I mean, a lot’s happened these last few months, but we haven’t actually… You know, we haven’t really…um. Well.”

 

“Jongin?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’re absolutely adorable.” He flashes his perfect set of white teeth, watches Jongin glare back and stop fidgeting. He’s pushing away, grimacing as he’s now the one trying to free himself from Baekhyun’s grip. He can really only think of a few other times he’s called something adorable, once in reference to a childhood pet, another talking about a pimple that sat just above Chanyeol’s eyebrow a mere week into debut (an elbow to the gut was the inevitable price), and maybe something to do with his first girlfriend. It’s all a bit blurry, but he wants to laugh at the rush of memories as he compares it to the current usage.

 

“Ew, that’s disgusting, hyung, don’t say stuff like that.”

 

Jongin’s looking back at him now, face somewhere between offended and enthralled, and Baekhyun finds himself falling forward in slow motion, hand of his uninjured arm climbing to bury itself in the collar of Jongin’s hoodie, the other hand hanging limply at his side. “I know it’s disgusting. Which is why you should shut up and take my stupid compliments since I very rarely use them.”

 

“And if I don’t take them?”

 

It’s hardly a challenge. He can _smell_ him. Jongin is just on the tip of his tongue, the AC kicked on some time ago, but he’s burning up and it’s completely impossible to ignore the gentle curl of Jongin’s fingers in the waist of his thin t-shirt, the change in pressure, the faint thrumming of blood through overcharged veins. When the tips of his fingers of his one hand finds their way to the nape of Jongin’s heated neck, it’s like his skin alone is enough to send shivers through every vertebrae in his spine, up every nerve that’s in his body, and Baekhyun hates the idea that he’s only just realising he’s never felt this before. Hates the fact that he’s feeling it now, and no matter how hard he tries to shove it back down his throat, it’s like it’ll just come back up and swallow him. Suffocate him. It’s so _stupid_.

 

“Well, I’d have to do something about it.”

 

He can feel him. Every, separate part of him. So he reels him in, feels the distinct shutter of his lids, lets his chest swell and each touch become the cynosure.

 

“Like you could,” Jongin says somewhat breathlessly, nodding at his shoulder.

 

It’s dark, they can’t really see, but they only need to breathe. His mouth is right here, his hands can feel the blood in his cheeks. But he still won’t stand for being a subject of Jongin’s pity, a target for his subtle insults, and pulls his hand away, letting it fall at his side.

 

“Hey, I’m not a complete paralytic—”

 

And then he’s promptly cut off, his good wrist being grabbed and pinned next to his head against the wall, whole body suddenly pressed tightly into the rough brick under Jongin’s weight. Jongin’s just staring back at him and trying his best to see his eyes in the faint light of the hallway, looking lost somewhere between terrified and curious, and Baekhyun thinks that his eyes must inhumanly wide from the shock because there’s a hint of a smile playing on Jongin’s lips. They’re practically breathing the same air right now. And at this point, there’s really no denying what this is…

 

When they say that time stands still, it’s a bitter lie. The moment they cave—the second Baekhyun pushes forward the extra distance with hand still stationed on the wall, lips catching with Jongin’s, time just _runs_ , speeds up until it feels like there’s never going to be enough time for the careful friction of lips against lips, for the labyrinthine tangle of arms when they’re grasping at each other for support. Baekhyun would be lying if he said he hadn't imagined what it would be like to kiss Jongin. It feels easy, each push and pull, and he can't think of anything that he could’ve ever wanted before that he could possibly want more than this right now. A rough couple of months spent in and out of bed with him, hands shoved down his boxers, dreams filled with anything but innocence and Jongin’s lips travelling down his stomach before the cruel jolt of his alarm on his nightstand, was _not_ in his contract. There wasn’t some special clause to accommodate sleeping with your bandmate, let alone feeling like your entire universe suddenly revolved around them. There wasn’t even fine print for befriending dumb kids like Jongin, and Baekhyun suddenly wishes there were. Maybe then, he would've known what to expect. Or gotten out before any of it happened.

 

It’s slow at first, achingly slow with the way that Jongin is being so careful, as if they both might break at any moment and the hand that isn’t holding Baekhyun’s to the wall will hurt him in the process of gripping at his waist to pull him closer. But Baekhyun remedies that, takes a nanosecond to suck Jongin’s lower lip into his mouth, picks up the pace and breaks free of Jongin’s grasp. It’s not like they’re strangers to each other’s bodies necessarily, but kissing Jongin is something else completely. He runs his fingers down Jongin’s collarbone, feels the immediate shiver, notices as Jongin gets the idea and reciprocates with equal fervour. The quick slide of Jongin’s tongue against his lower lip has his mouth falling open, a broken gasp breaking out, hand clutching at the back of Jongin’s shoulder like he’s the only thing holding him up, suspended in space, crushed by gravity. It’s cliche, the way it’s playing through his mind, the way that he surges back into him and just devours him. It’s been a long time coming, and this kiss is everything and nothing, even under the steady stream of cold air and empty echo of faint sounds that he didn’t know Jongin could make in this dark, damp hallway.

 

It’s almost painful—and there’s a certain ache in his chest—when they separate with a warm, wet sound. He’s got his hands gripped tightly around Jongin’s upper arms, foreheads still pressed together, trying to catch what little breath is left in the air. He can hear the uneven rise and fall of Jongin’s chest, can feel it actually, their chests nearly brushing together with each laboured exhalation. And when he opens his eyes, just a small crack, just enough to see Jongin’s face just centimeters away, he’s wearing this faint smile, blissed out and far gone, and it’s right then that Baekhyun knows he’s in trouble.

 

Has been, for a while now.

 

Because no matter what he does, it’s the only thing he can think about. The only thing he’ll ever be able to think about. The only thing he _wants_ to think about, from this second to the last, and he wants to pinch himself awake. Because when Jongin buries his face in his shoulder, presses another slow, addictive kiss to the pulse of his neck as they lean back against the cold brick of the wall together, he knows that this is all he wants. To run his fingers through his hair, to hold him as his begins heaving, sudden dampness appropriating his shoulder as he starts to cry.

 

And it hurts, knowing that they both want this. So he just wraps his arms around him tighter as Jongin loses himself.

 

“I’m not—in love—with you,” Jongin hiccups between broken sobs, fingers clawing at the back of Baekhyun’s shirt. No matter how long this next day is going to be, he at least knows now that he’s got Jongin by his side to share some of the guilt. He presses his lips to his hair, whispers like everyone in every part of the world can hear him if he speaks too loudly.

 

“Everyone’s in love with me,” he says, closing his eyes and imagining what it would’ve been like if they’d met outside of this universe, outside of the company, just regular students. Maybe co-workers at the same office. Just them, the right time. He buries his face in Jongin’s shoulder as well, wills the burn in his eyes to go away and straighten up his spine as if it’s any sort of consolation. “And that’s why we’re in trouble. Kim Jongin, you’re just as stupid as me.”

 

Tomorrow, the week, the month, the _year_. It’ll be hell trying to figure this out. But he holds onto the small glimmer of hope that ensures everything will be okay. He doesn’t want to lose Jongin; not when he’s had him like this. It _has_ to be okay.

 

So without wasting another moment, Baekhyun pushes away just long enough to look at his mistake, enough to realise everything that’s wrong with this picture, and then pulls Jongin in again, addicted to this new feeling of his lips on his and the inevitable crime he’s going to be committing for as long as he possibly can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... have nothing to say for myself. Sorry to run over your Kaisoo ship with my Kaibaek bulldozer, but at least I finished something, eh? (And I don't advocate cheating, of course. But for the sake of drama...)


End file.
